Saturday, September 30, 2006

There Can Be Only One

There seems to be some unwritten law of the universe, that Middle Son and I can not BOTH have working vehicles.

He buys a car, mine goes in the shop.

His car is running, something breaks on mine.

So now...there can be only one.

(And it ain’t mine - LOL)

My car is, in technical terms - fuggdup.

It is bashed in on both sides. It has no outside rearview mirrors. It takes two people to roll up the passenger door window, because it jumps out of the track in a futile attempt to flee the horror of its surroundings. (For you youngens who have lived your entire life with electric automobile windows that rise with the push of a button, there are still some of us Neanderthals who drive such ancient vehicles that we have to MANUALLY raise and lower the glass.) One person has to be inside cranking the handle up, and a second individual must stand outside the car, pushing the kamikaze glass back into its track.

There is something in the front end that goes, “Skree-thump, skree-thump” when we turn a corner.

Its last oil change was roughly 7,000 miles ago. I’m not sure because the odometer quit working.

Then the transmission gave up the ghost. (Speaking of ghosts - I am excited beyond belief that tomorrow starts Halloween Month! *giggle*)

So here she sits, all sad and lonely. Daughter is back on the bus, which adds to her cheery disposition in the mornings (insert intense sarcasm - LOL)

Middle son is running all my errands for me. Wanna guess how thrilled he is about that? LOL

Bats may show up soon here. I have lots of time to look for Halloween graphics.

Monday, September 25, 2006

GooBadU

The Good the Bad and the Ugly

The GoodWe had a pleasant anniversary. Stayed home, took it easy, exchanged gifts.

Do y’all watch The Simpsons? There was an episode where Homer forgot to get Marge a gift, and when she gave him HIS gift, he said, “Doh! I didn’t get you anything!” She smiled, handed him another box, and said, “Yes you did.” LOL

When husband saw that, he said, “That is a GREAT IDEA! Let’s do that from now on!”

So I did.

I got him a TITANIUM anniversary band, which is just unbelievably cool - LOLIt is made from aircraft titanium, and seein’ as how we eloped (sort of) to Reno during the Air Races, lo those 25 years ago, aircraft titanium was just too awesome for me to pass up. He loved it.

A smooth, contemporary band that is perfect for the modern man. Fashioned from aircraft quality titanium, this men's wedding/anniversary band features a two-part "spinning" feature in which the top part of the ring is cradled into the inside of the ring and freely "spins". A 0.01 carat diamond and gold electroplated edges give this tasteful ring the perfect final style touches. "Always & Forever" is inscribed inside the band in script.

He got me ( *snicker* ) a lovely 3 diamond anniversary necklace.

Sigh...of course the good times roll - right off the table, onto the floor, out the door and down the driveway, where they develop transmission problems.

The BadThe boy’s car is still in the shop, awaiting the attorney’s intervention. Drunken Bitch who was involved in the accident, successfully filed a claim against Middle Son’s auto insurance, so it appears he is going to be liable for his own repairs unless by some miracle The Finest Lawyer In the World is working out of a strip mall in the Midwest LOL

Yesterday, girlfriend returned from out of town, and having gone an entire weekend without contact, the lad was desperate. Plus it’s her birthday. Much begging and promises of vast quantities of household chore performances lured me into a Devil’s bargain, and I let him drive in MY car to see her last night.

(You can see this comin’, can’t you?)

He returned home around 10:30 PM, and called out to his sleeping mother to join him in the living room.

“I hate to tell you this...” he began.

Expletives flew through the windmills of my mind like snowflakes in a blizzard. Seems that upon picking up girlfriend to go our for a bite to eat, the car (my car) developed some problems. It would go forward, but only slowly, refusing to shift to a higher gear. They returned to girlfriend’s home. Her father assessed the situation, and found the car to be low on transmission fluid. He had some on hand and added it, and the lad was able to limp it back to our house. I was a’feared to drive Daughter to school in it today.

Fortunately, misfortune had struck - LOL

The youngens were sick last week as strep throat is traveling around our community and naturally they shared their germs with us. So this morning, Husband is powerful ill and stayed home. Which is bad. But good. LOL

Since he didn’t go in to work, his car is here, so I took Daughter to school, Son to work and myself to the liquor store - LOL

Just kidding.

I did call the mechanic though, and I am going to attempt to take MY car up there soon, so it can commiserate with Son’s car, about how horribly we treat them.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Blue Toe Season

This is Chapter 11 from Queen Klutz. I share it with you now, 'cause I got nuttin LOLBeen busy working on e-books; cursing; chauffeuring the youngens to work, school and after school activities; cursing; mowing the grass; cursing; cleaning house; cursing; sorting out stuff to sell on eBay; cursing, and preparing for Autumn. Gawd I love Autumn, - maybe I’ll stop cursing long enough to take a moment and enjoy it LOLThen I’ll go back to cursing LOLSo without further ado:

CHAPTER 11Fall Brings Color ChangeIt’s blue toe season!

In the ocean of injuries I have inflicted on my body, (amputated-then-reattached-finger, multiple fractures, surgical insertion of pins, screws and metal plates, and more stitches than a quilt) a stubbed toe is barely a ripple.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Have you ever plowed little-toe-first into something solid? I mean really solid? Ouch!

It was my own fault, (of course) but I choose to blame the inkpen (which resented the implication and has since disappeared). I was trying to be organized, (something that almost always gets me in trouble). I was making a list. No more willy-nilly browsing for me, I was going to return home from this shopping trip with the essentials, instead of my usual moaning and groaning about forgotten items.

I circled the house intently, eyes darting about for articles that needed re-supply. Proudly I added items, until the inkpen, (apparently in cahoots with every other mechanical device in the universe, all of which hate me) slipped from my grasp. It leapt as though it had sprouted wings. Soaring across the room it flew, landing behind the large leather chair.Undeterred, I tried to fish it out. I couldn’t reach it, so with a powerful pull, I dragged the chair out. I retrieved the inkpen and gave it a good talking-to. (No, I didn’t really, but I did call it an unprintable expletive.)

Then I committed the fatal (well, painful) error.

I didn’t slide the chair back. "I’ll remember to do it later," I thought.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Pen in hand, I continued taking notes. My list got longer, my memory got weaker, and the chair sat there, waiting, knowing it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, (well duh, that’s the topic of this piece) I forgot about the chair until our violent encounter. I was scurrying about, (never good) looking for my shoes, leaving me barefoot and vulnerable.

The sturdy chair hunkered quietly, anticipating the strike. "Grrrrrrr, she thinks she can leave me just sitting here alone, in the same place week after week, with these stinking dust bunnies gathering beneath me!"

(The dust bunnies all giggled in unison, then began calling their friends to come over, just to annoy the chair, as they are terrible little pranksters.)

I’m assuming most of their conversation, of course. Furniture pieces, just like animals and mechanical devices, speak to each other in a frequency that is usually out of range of human hearing. Occasionally I catch snippets of it when I am fevered or just falling asleep, but let’s not spread that around. Saying you know what the refrigerator is thinking can get you in b-i-g trouble.

But I digress.

The chair growled in disgust at the table, but lurked patiently, knowing his reward was at hand. He braced himself for the impact, keenly aware that his brute strength was no match for my puny bones. Sure enough, the foot took a step and KA-POW!

I went reeling backwards across the room, as the chair smirked proudly, and the dust bunnies had fits of glee. The table looked on sympathetically. The carpet braced for impact, but I somehow remained semi-vertical, bent over, but not falling down. I hopped to the couch on the other foot, straining the metallic reinforcements, causing them to grumble about having to do double duty. "Hey! We’re only supposed to support half the load!"

I lifted my leg to examine the foot, and the toe was already beginning to swell.

The chair smirked, immensely satisfied with himself, until I furiously shoved it back in its place."Grrrrrrr, one of these days lady, one of these days…"

I was hobbled for several days, limping alternately between the stubbed-toe-foot and the complaining-metal-inset ankle. The toe turned a bright, vivid blue, but is now fading to black, green and gold.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Little Billy Explains Politics

Lil’ Billy goes to his dad and asks, “What is politics?”

Dad says, “Well son, let me try to explain it this way. I’m the breadwinner of the family, so let’s call me Capitalism. Mommy is the administrator of the money, so we’ll call her the Government. We’re here to take care of your needs, so we’ll call you The People. The nanny, well, consider her The Working Class. Your baby brother, we’ll call him The Future. Now go think about this and see if it makes sense.”

So the little boy goes off to bed thinking about what Dad has said. Later that night, he hears his baby brother crying and runs to his room only to find that his diapers are very soiled. So the little boy goes to his parents’ room. Mom is sound asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he goes to the nanny’s room. Finding the door locked, he looks through the peephole and sees his father in bed with the nanny. He gives up and goes back to bed.

The next morning, the little boy says to his father, “Dad, I think I understand what politics is now.”

“Good son, tell me in your own words then what politics are.”

The little boy replies, “Well, while Capitalism is screwing the Working Class, the Government is sound asleep, the People are being ignored and the Future is in a pile of doody.”

Friday, September 15, 2006

Pissed Off Mama

You have got some nerve. I can’t divulge specifics, because this may well go to court, and I’m not having my blog pulled in as evidence - LOL

I got a phone call at 11 PM. “Mom, I’ve been in a car accident.”

When my heart started beating again, I asked if he was OK. Yes. Was anyone hurt? No.

Thank you, God.

Can’t go into any details, but I will say that the police report (which I just returned home with) shows that the other driver was arrested for driving while intoxicated.

It’s right there in the report.

Yet, this woman had the audacity to file a claim against Middle Son’s insurance. As I drove him in to McDonald’s this morning, his cell phone rang. I am driving him because his car is at the shop, courtesy of Drunken Bitch. It was his insurance company telling him that she had filed for damages. He was half-asleep and mumbled something. When he got off the phone I asked him who was calling and he told me. I was shocked!

“SHE is filing against YOU?!?”

We hadn’t even SEEN the police report. But you can bet your ass I hustled straight over to that police station after dropping the lad off. Got copy of file, took it to car and read about her failure to pass the sobriety test and how she was arrested.

Steam was coming out of my ears by the time I finished reading. I am still so furious, I want to break something LOL

Instead, I did what all bloggers do, and start typing.

Type, breathe, type, breathe.

Breathe...breathe.

I’m not sure what course of action we will take. It isn’t really my responsibility, it’s Son’s.

Friday, September 08, 2006

2996 - A Tribute to John. F. Swaine

Please don’t click away. That’s your first instinct, I know.

I understand. It’s uncomfortable, painful even, to read a tribute to someone who died on September 11, 2001. This is not a religious or political statement. It is a testament to our humanity, to show respect for the life of a fellow human being. A life that felt love...and laughter...and pain. Life is fleeting for all of us. Please...take a moment to honor this one.

He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

From the NY TImesJohn Swaine was the consummate Wall Street bond trader: "Aggressive and full of boundless energy," said his brother-in-law, Richard McGuire. He worked at Cantor Fitzgerald for about 10 years."He really loved his work," Mr. McGuire said. "He worked hard and played hard."But he wanted to share the wealth. He helped his brother-in-law, John Reo, get a job at Cantor, trading bonds. They worked and died together on the 104th floor.Mr. Swaine, 37, of Larchmont, N.Y., may have loved the Street but he did not fall for the trappings. He preferred to help his extended family, and to spend money on his wife of 13 years, Suzanne, and three daughters."He rarely spent any money on himself," Mr. McGuire said. "He provided his family with a beautiful home. But he was unassuming. He didn't have fancy cars or suits. He took the subway from the train every day. Everything he did, he did it for his family."

From Wall of AmericansJohn F. Swaine and John A. Reo were brothers-in-law and bond traders. Swaine, 36, of Larchmont, N.Y., was married to the sister of Reo, 28, a University of Notre Dame graduate. Both worked at Cantor Fitzgerald Securities on the 104th floor of the trade center. "We lost our son and our son-in-law together," Reo's mother, Judith, said softly. "We're in the process now of planning two funerals. It's unreal.” Swaine was the father of three girls--Sarah, 11; Emily, 9; and Hanna, 5. He had worked at Cantor Fitzgerald for more than 10 years, Judith Reo said. Her son, however, had started at the firm in May. John Reo recently had moved to Larchmont and was staying with his sister, Suzanne, and Swaine. Larchmont was especially hard hit by the attacks, Judith Reo said. "The whole community has so many losses that it's incredible," she said. "They're all young men, and a lot of the families are without dads today."

From his hometown newspaper(September 11, 2004) A plaque, a stone, a list, a poem - and people gathered to remember those lost three years ago in the attack on the World Trade Center. That's how Larchmont and Mamaroneck officials, police, firefighters, scouts, families and friends commemorated the events on Saturday morning at Memorial Park in the Town of Mamaroneck.The group assembled first for a brief ceremony at what's come to be known as "Girl Scout Rock" in the little garden near the train station parking lot, where scouts have placed a memorial plaque. The most solemn moment was a recitation by Town Supervisor Valerie O'Keeffe of names of local residents who died at the twin towers three years ago:

Helen Belilovsky

John Howard Boulton

Douglas G. Karpiloff

Frank J. Koestner

Maurice Patrick Kelly

Helen Crossin-Kittle  Patricia Helen Kittle

Edward H. Luckett II

John Thomas McErlean Jr.

Christopher Orgielewicz

John Reo

John F. Swaine

The assembly then reconvened across the street for the unveiling of a memorial stone, under a commemorative tree planted last year by FIND (Friends in Need), the Larchmont-based organization formed to help the local families impacted by the disaster."September 11, 2001 it's not just a date, it's a part of us, just as our loved ones are," Bob Meglio, one of the founders of FIND, told the gathering. Other speakers echoed his words. "We remember, we bear witness across Judaism, across Christianity, across even Islam and Hinduism, we remember. so those who have fallen are not lost," said Reverend Bill Crawford of Larchmont Avenue Church. And how do we remember? We mark with a stone, and say a prayer that has no mention of death, but only an appreciation for life, said Rabbi Jeffrey Sirkman of Larchmont Temple explaining the Jewish custom. And so, Carolyn Koestner and Eugene Belilovsky, who each lost a parent on 9/11, helped unveil the stone marker under the dogwood tree that has taken root since last year at edge of the field.

A man is placed upon the steps, a baby criesAnd high above the church bells start to ringAnd as the heaviness the bodyOh the heaviness settles inSomewhere you can hear a mother sing

Then it's one foot then the otherAs you step out onto the roadHow much weight? How much weight?Then it's how long? And how far?And how many times before it's too late?

Calling all angelsCalling all angelsWalk me through this oneDon't leave me aloneCalling all angelsCalling all angelsWe're cryin' and we're hurtin'And we're not sure why...

And every day you gaze upon the sunsetWith such love and intensityWhy it's...it's almost as ifIf you could only crack the codeThen you'd finally understand what this all meansBut if you could...do you think you wouldTrade it inAll the pain and suffering?Ah, but then you'd missThe beauty of the light upon this earthAnd the sweetness of the leaving

Calling all angelsCalling all angelsWalk me through this oneDon't leave me alone

Thursday, September 07, 2006

School Trolls

They sat in there, the miscreant ne’er do well, and Dear Defiant Daughter.

Nothing but a metal office chair and a fog of fury separated them. I sighed. I was expecting this (unfortunately). He’s been tormenting her for years. She got her period. She snapped. No court in the land would convict her LOL

We adjourned to the counselor’s office. Explanations were in order. The lad shrugged and claimed innocence and wonderment at being attacked. Daughter rolled her eyes so severely, I feared they would pop out and spin across the floor.

Fool. His puny intellect was unprepared for the onslaught. Daughter launched a tirade worthy of the finest orators in the land. Listing, step by step, year by year, report by report, the pain and suffering inflicted upon her tender soul by Moron Boy, and her requests to the administrators for castigation (not castration, we’re not barbarians LOL)

I was so proud.

Of course I had to wear my Stern Mommy face, because we do not resolve our differences with physical violence. It required the strength of Hercules to remain straight-faced when they asked why she hit him. “Because nothing else got anyone’s attention.”

So they’re both in trouble. Didn’t really seem fair to me, but I’m biased. If some jackass tormented me for years, sticking gum in my hair, calling me names, tripping me in the hallway and incessantly tapping my shoulder from the riser above me in choir, only to be released from any punishment when the incidents were reported, I’d have snapped too.

But don’t tell Dear Daughter. I gotta be Mean Mommy even when I hate it.

That’s it...I got nothin’ else funny, sorry. Just wanted to wish all of you a glorious Labor Day weekend! If you haven’t purchased a copy of my new book, please do! On sale through Labor Day, regularly $14.95, this weekend only $12.95. Don’t make me come after you. *snicker*

EDIT:Duh on me. The first picture I had up was indeed dogs. Never post drunk, Marti...or at 4 AM...or drunk at 4 AM *snicker*Here it is:

UPDATE: Sonofabitch...I am trying to make it through the ol' blogroll today to wish everyone well. Unfortunately, Blogger is having "issues" again. I switched my Blogger blog (where I co-post these messages) to the new "Beta" version. Now when I try to comment at other Blogger blogs, it tells me, in what my mind's voice reads as a snotty French accent, that, "No-eww! Yew meh not do zat! If ze bloggar eeze not using ze new beta, we spit on both of you!"

About Me

Name:Marti

Location:Grain Valley, Missouri, United States

Hi!
I am a wife, mother, friend, humor columnist, online retailer, aspiring novelist, and pumpkin
farmer.........a woman who is trying to do ten things at once, but only succeeding at about half of them!

If you want to build a ship, then don't drum up men to gather wood, give orders, and divide the work. Rather, teach them to yearn for the far and endless sea. - Antoine de Saint-Exupery